“You were gone a long time last night,” I said in as pleasant a voice as I could muster. “I waited up to talk to you.”
“There’s no time for talk now,” she replied curtly. “Your breakfast is on the table. Go now, before you are late.”
I got ready and went to school with a heavy feeling in my stomach, like the weight of my morning flapjacks, although I knew it wasn’t food that was making me feel this way. Aunt Flo had said nothing to me about the box, and the guilt I felt stayed with me through the day. I mulled over my actions, fearing that Aunt Flo knew my secret and was now telling Papa about it.
I got into trouble twice in class for not paying attention and had my knuckles rapped for the first time ever. But the humiliation of that seemed pale in comparison to what waited for me later.
I dawdled all the way home. Even Edward and his sisters left me behind. I knew Papa would take Aunt Flo’s side, and I knew I was wrong to take her box. Finally I decided to face them. I would apologize and take my punishment like the martyrs I’d read about who courageously faced the lions.
When I walked in the door, Papa was waiting for me.
“Aunt Flo is under the weather,” he said. “She says it’s just a cold, but I sent her to bed. You’ll have to make supper tonight.” Then he went back out to tend to his chores.
Mae fretted all evening as if she was remembering Mama’s sickness again. I worried, too, even though I knew Mama’s illness was something much worse.
It’s from staying out so late with her shrouding duties, I thought, and I was filled with a sudden remorse.
I brought Aunt Flo a bowl of potato soup and a cup of tea.
“Thank you, Evie,” she said as she sat up. She looked pale and worn.
“Aunt Flo,” I said softly, “I need to talk to you about your box.” I looked down at the floor, ashamed.
“My shrouding box is underneath my bed where I always keep it,” she said firmly. “There’s no need to discuss it.”
I looked up into her face. I expected to see anger and disappointment, but all I saw was the determination of an aunt who seemed to love me in spite of myself.
The next morning Aunt Flo felt better and got up to fix breakfast, chasing Papa away from the stove.
“I’ll stay home and help,” I offered.
She shook her head. “I will have none of that. I’m just a little weak. If I stay in bed all day, I’ll never get my strength back.”
I smiled at her before I left and told her not to overdo it. She patted me on the back.
That day I did my schoolwork with a lighter heart and didn’t get into trouble once. I even challenged Edward to a race home after school although he beat me.
Aunt Flo still looked tired that evening but seemed in good spirits, even telling us stories from her time spent in the Dakotas. She told us how people there built their sod homes at the corner of their land so they could be next to each other through the lonely, hard winters. She also boasted of the tough women on the prairie, of one woman who could shoot the skin off a snake from fifty yards.
Then she talked about growing up with Papa. She spoke of losing two brothers to typhoid on the ship to America, brothers Papa never met.
“One was named Hans,” she said. “When my mother had another son in America, she named him after the son who’d died.”
“Do you remember much about him?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “I was young. I was just five.”
I looked over at Mae, who was also five years old. Would she remember Mama?
Another Shrouding
I had just fallen asleep when a loud pounding awoke me. I saw Papa pull up his suspenders as he hurried toward the door. Aunt Flo was close behind him carrying a lantern, and I trailed them both. Mae didn’t even wake up. I turned to speak to Aunt Flo, but she quietly shushed me as Papa went to see who was there.
Papa opened the door. I didn’t recognize the man standing outside, but he had a distraught look on his face and wrung a handkerchief back and forth between his hands.
“Howdy, Mr. Paulson,” Papa said, stepping back and motioning him inside. I stood huddled with Aunt Flo against the wall.
“Sorry to bother you at this time of night, Mr. Mennen. But we are in need of your sister’s services. We’ve had a death in the family.”
Papa patted the man on the shoulder and looked back at Aunt Flo. Her face was still flush with cold.
“My sister is ill,” he told the man.
The man kept talking. “It’s my eldest daughter. She was carrying our grandson. Had a terrible hard time delivering him. The doctor finally was able to pull the baby out, but it was just too hard on Clara. The doctor spent most of the evening with her. We lost her.” He choked on those last words.
“I will go,” Aunt Flo said, then hurried to her room to change.
Papa turned to me. “She isn’t feeling well, Evie.” He looked worried. “Aunt Flo may need help.”
I stared at Papa, not understanding what he was asking.
“Evie, you will go with her.”
My eyes opened wide and my throat tightened. “But I don’t know anything about shrouding, Papa.”
“Just do what she tells you.”
I hesitated. “What if I can’t, Papa?”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “Just think of all Aunt Flo has done for us. That will help you find the courage.”
I followed Aunt Flo, who was getting ready. I brought out the box from under the bed and held it up to her.
“Papa would like me to come with you.”
Aunt Flo was fastening her dress, but she stopped and stared at me, her eyes wide in disbelief. “I don’t think that is a good idea, Evie.”
“I want to help,” I insisted.
She waved me away with her hand. “You are young, Evie. You should not be concerned with this.”
“How old were you when your grandmother taught you?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I was about your age when I first went with my Oma. But this is different.”
“Please, Aunt Flo. I won’t be in the way.”
Aunt Flo studied my face, puzzled. “Are you certain you want to go?”
“Yes,” I said, determined now to convince her.
Aunt Flo hesitated. “All right, but you must be very quiet and not ask questions.”
Then I did something I didn’t expect to do. I gave Aunt Flo a hug.
“I won’t,” I said even as I wondered what I had gotten myself into. “I promise.”
Shrouding Duties
I snuggled beneath a gray, tattered blanket in the back of Mr. Paulson’s wagon, headed for the other side of the county. The night was cool, but Aunt Flo didn’t seem to notice. She sat up straight, staring ahead onto the dark road; the lantern sitting next to her transformed the bushes and trees into strange shapes. Poor Mr. Paulson spoke quietly to Aunt Flo every once in a while.
“She was our first child,” he said more than once.
I was almost asleep when the wagon slowly turned down a tree-lined path, blocking off even the light of the moon to guide us. My teeth chattered, although I didn’t know if it was from the cold or fear of what might lie ahead. My stomach felt nervous.
The Paulsons lived in a small home surrounded by trees, about a half mile off the road. The sound of a stream broke the silence of the night, and the horses whinnied a greeting that announced our presence. A small light flickered in the window, and I saw the door open slightly as we drew near. Mrs. Paulson greeted us at the door with red eyes.
As we entered, we heard a cry coming from a darkened corner near the fire. Mrs. Paulson hurried over to a bassinet and picked up a baby tightly wrapped in blankets.
“God spared our grandson,” she said quietly. I looked at the tiny infant. A patch of light hair crowned his little head. My heart filled with sympathy for him. He squirmed restlessly, and I wondered if he sensed his mother’s death.
Mrs. Paulson offered us some tea t
o warm up.
“Perhaps later,” Aunt Flo said. “Best we tend to our duties first.”
Mrs. Paulson led us to a bedroom at the back of the house where a young man with dark hair and eyes was keeping a vigil near the figure on the bed. He looked to be about eighteen years old. Aunt Flo paused outside the bedroom door and looked at me.
“Do you want to stay out here, Evie?”
I shook my head. “No,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper. My stomach rumbled and I felt lightheaded, but still I said, “I want to help.”
Aunt Flo offered her condolences to the young man and then quietly instructed him to fetch her a long board. He left in a trance, as though unaware of what he was doing.
Aunt Flo took the basin of water and the soap that was next to the bed and laid a cloth and towel beside it. She opened the box and brought out a brush and a round container that held some powder. Finally she took out two pennies, a bag containing a mixture of herbs and spices, and one of the forked twigs.
When the man returned with the board, she draped a pretty white sheet on top. Next she helped him position the woman on it. Then she told him to go fetch some old pieces of cloth.
He came back a minute later with some small linens.
“Go now, rest and see your new son,” Aunt Flo told him. “I’ll take care of your wife.”
He left, still in a stupor, but his eyes flickered and he thanked Aunt Flo.
I still hadn’t looked at the woman on the bed. My eyes had stayed fixed upon Aunt Flo and the assortment of items before her.
Aunt Flo moved quickly now, removing the woman’s gown. Taking a cloth, she carefully washed the woman’s body, mixing the sweet-smelling herbs and spices into the water. Then she washed her hair with some soap and water. Afterward she took a lavender dress with a high lace collar that was hanging in the corner and placed it on the woman.
Next Aunt Flo put stockings and shoes on the woman and started to comb her blond hair. Aunt Flo had such a natural way about her, I had to keep reminding myself that the woman was dead.
I made myself look at the woman’s hands and arms. My eyes moved to her hair, so pretty and thick, with long golden waves. Finally, ever so slowly, my eyes came to rest on her face. She had a beautiful, small face, and a look of peace showed upon it. Her eyes were partly closed.
Aunt Flo moved gracefully as she picked up the coins. That’s what rattled in the box, I thought. She closed both eyelids, placing a penny on each one, and said quietly, “The coins keep the eyes shut.”
I hadn’t moved since I entered the room. “Hand me the twig, Evie,” Aunt Flo asked. Fear had frozen me to one spot on the floor, and I thought I would faint if I budged an inch. But my feet walked on their own, and somehow I handed the twig to Aunt Flo.
She took the forked twig and propped it underneath the woman’s chin, inserting it so that the twig was covered under her lace collar. “It holds the head up and keeps the mouth closed,” she said as she straightened the collar over it.
Aunt Flo moistened several cloths in camphor and covered the woman’s arms and hands with them.
“This keeps the skin white. Otherwise it turns an ashen color,” Aunt Flo explained. “I’ll remove the cloths in the morning before the service.”
Finally Aunt Flo took the powder and fluffed it on the woman’s face.
“The dark powder covers the pale mask of death,” she said.
Aunt Flo took a cloth dipped in some dried rose petals and put a pinch on each cheek. Then she placed a pillow underneath the head of the woman and stepped back, a look of quiet fulfillment on her face.
I spoke for the first time. “She appears as if she’s asleep.”
“Yes.” Aunt Flo nodded. “She is at peace.” She sat down on a rocking chair next to the bed and picked up a Bible. “Now we sit and wait.”
“For what?”
“For morning. Someone needs to sit up with the body throughout the night. Look, it is almost dawn now.
The room suddenly seemed very quiet. Aunt Flo rocked slowly back and forth, reading from the Bible, her lips forming the words as she read. Her face was still flushed, but she didn’t seem ill. I slowly inched myself toward the corner, where I slouched down, my eyes still on the woman in the center of the room. Aunt Flo and I and death, alone together, the three of us.
I sat there another hour with Aunt Flo, who rocked and read the time away. My body began to relax, and I sank farther down in the corner. I looked at the box on the floor next to Aunt Flo. There were only a few coins and twigs, some powder and herbs and spices, and dried rose petals. And there was Aunt Flo, who made death less painful for the grieving relatives. As I watched Aunt Flo rock, I had to strain to keep my eyes from closing.
Bam, barn, bam! I quickly woke to the sound of pounding and hurried toward the window. In the faint first glow of the day, I saw Mr. Paulson building a coffin for Clara. I looked at his daughter on the board, who seemed more of a girl than a woman. Her long silky hair glistened in the morning light.
Then I started to cry.
Aunt Flo looked at me and opened her arms. I ran to her and sat on her lap. Her big arms wrapped around me tightly.
“It is good to cry,” Aunt Flo said. “Let it out, Evie. Let the sorrow go.”
It seemed like I sobbed forever, until there was nothing left inside me. It was the first time I’d cried since Mama’s death. When I couldn’t cry any longer, exhaustion set in and I soon nodded off to sleep in Aunt Flo’s arms.
The Gift of Life
Was it a dream? I jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Mae sat at the table, eating hot porridge, her favorite. She slurped a spoonful into her mouth and smiled when she noticed me standing there.
“Evie is a sleepyhead,” she taunted me. I turned without answering her taunt. The sun was already halfway across the kitchen floor, which meant I had slept late again.
“Where are Papa and Aunt Flo?”
“Papa is feeding the sheep. Aunt Flo is taking care of the garden because you’re a sleepyhead.” I stood still for so long that Mae finally asked, “Evie, are you sick?”
I didn’t answer her. I ran out the door toward the garden. Before I reached it, I heard a humming sound coming from the far side. Aunt Flo was on her knees, pulling the weeds from the white flowers of the wild boneset I’d planted around one edge of the garden. Only a few melons and a couple of stalks of corn with husks lingered in the Indian summer.
I stopped running and ducked behind a tree as I watched her. Her face seemed to radiate the sun as she hummed a German song that I recalled from before. Suddenly my spirit lifted, as if the stone that had been dragging me down had broken apart into little pieces and crumbled away.
The following day another caller came to our house. It was William Friedrich, whose wife, Sophie, was due to have a baby.
“Oh, no,” I whispered to myself when I saw his wagon turn up our mud drive. “Poor Sophie has died. Or is it her baby that’s died?” I remembered Sophie from school, although she had been years ahead of me in her studies.
Papa was in the barn, feeding the animals, so Aunt Flo went outside to talk to William. After a couple of minutes, she returned and grabbed her shawl.
“Tell your father that I have gone with Mr. Friedrich and should not be back too late. You watch Mae and start the potatoes boiling if I don’t get home by suppertime.”
“Aunt Flo, you forgot your box.”
“I don’t need it, Evie. Mr. Friedrich has asked me to help deliver their baby. The doctor is busy treating Mr. Stein’s inflammation.”
“So no one has died?”
“No, Evie. God willing, I will help deliver a healthy child.”
My mouth dropped open. “You know how to do that?”
“Yes, I’ve helped many times.” She winked at me and added, “It is good to see the beginning of life and not just the end.”
I watched Aunt Flo leave, the wagon turning toward town, and I marveled at all she knew. I hadn’t been v
ery kind to her, and still she took care of Mae and Papa and me.
I waited anxiously for Aunt Flo to come home to share news of Sophie’s baby. I put the potatoes on to boil, shook out all the rugs, and swept the parlor floor. Then I sat at the table and did my school lessons.
I also made a funeral card that I planned to put on the grave of Mr. Paulson’s daughter who was buried in the cemetery next to town. I thought of how there would be two births in one week and how their children would someday go to school together, maybe even become friends. By the time Papa came inside, I was exhausted.
“How much time does it take to deliver a baby?” I asked Papa.
He shook his head. “There’s no set amount, but you took so long, I corded two loads of wood and still had time to spare.”
When the wagon finally turned up our drive, I ran outside to greet Aunt Flo. “Is the baby all right?”
“Ja.”Aunt Flo nodded. “It is a healthy baby girl.”
“A girl,” I repeated.
“They have named her Constance, after Mrs. Friedrich’s mother.”
“When I have a daughter, I will name her Rose, after my mother,” I said.
Aunt Flo frowned, but her voice was light. “It’s a nice thought, but don’t be in a rush to marry. Think of all you need to learn first.”
Then she got down from the wagon and put her hand on my shoulder. “For instance, you can start by helping me cook up a mustard plaster for chest colds.”
“Phew.” I could only cover my nose at the thought.
A Shrouding Assistant
New settlers often left after spending one winter in Minnesota. Papa prided himself on surviving the winters, but this year we thought it would never end. Storms continued to pile snow upon the garden, burying any visible signs that it ever existed, stopping only long enough for us to dig our way out before beginning the cycle all over again. The weather made it almost impossible for Aunt Flo to do any shrouding.
The Shrouding Woman Page 6
